


Headfirst Slide Into A Bad Love Poem

by Pinkstationfrerard



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3722395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkstationfrerard/pseuds/Pinkstationfrerard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete's life was basically just one long love poem, consisting of shared hearts and shared headphones on a bus ride where the music never mattered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Headfirst Slide Into A Bad Love Poem

All anyone hears when they share earbuds, listening with another shared breath and beat of a drum heart, is the vibrating noise of the engine along with the too-loud or too-quiet noise of whatever insignificant music was playing.

Sharing earbuds with Patrick was something else entirely.

Pete would still get that horrible shitty-sounding base and stupid rumble of whatever vehicle they were on, whether a plane or a bus or the van, but what was amazing was Patrick's smell, sweet and like home. Pete would stuff his face into Patrick's soft hair, always so soft, or his pale neck with skin so smooth it was almost unreal. It never mattered what music was playing.

Patrick, pale and beautiful and savory sweet, perfect.

Pete, dark and disgusting and torn apart, ripped at the edges.

Pete wanted to just shove his head into Patrick's full thighs until he choked himself, losing breath and precious oxygen until his earbud slipped out and all he could feel pressing against his face, vibrating through his body, tugging at his heart was always  _Patrick Patrick Patrick_.

All until Pete could feel nothing but completely and utterly home.

He wanted to tug on the brim of Patrick's hat until he looked down at Pete, gorgeously annoyed, and Pete would think I love you.

Patrick would say, "I love you too, Pete."

Then Pete would smile like he always did when Patrick said anything at all, lips warm and curling up at the edges, more genuine than anything he'd felt in what seemed like ages.

Then he'd slip an earbud in Patrick's ear that rested farther away from Pete, most likely his left, and then Pete would put the other in what was probably his right so they could sit closer, so Pete would be forced to put his head delicately on Patrick's shoulder.

The other man would rest his on Pete's head, brushing away long, dark hairs that always stuck up like they were waiting for Patrick to smooth down again.

On a long plane flight, Pete wouldn't have to beg someone to let him sit next to Patrick, because they always knew that Patrick was _his_ , he was Pete's to constantly glance up at feel better, to calm his nerves with a combination of too much medication and not enough _Patrick_.

And when Patrick was done with his shit, his constant grabby hands and cuddling, he'd say "fuck off, Pete," not harsh, still with that annoyed grin of his, and Pete would sit alone, look dejected slumped into his old hoodie.

Thank god Patrick would only remain a few minutes alone before he let Pete in again, into his precious home, his heart of gold. It looked so beautiful and shiny next to Pete's heart of rusty copper.

If home is where the heart is, then Patrick was Pete's home, complete with a picket fence and a dog and a tiny Patrick with a shiny ring as gold as his heart, waiting for Pete in the door frame while the other man walked up their perfect front steps to a perfect man, perfect house in a perfect world.

In a perfect world, when Pete asked, "you gonna marry me, pattycakes?" Patrick would say something along the lines of, "soon", or "yes", instead of his usual passing laugh that meant he didn't know Pete was completely, absolutely serious.

"I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, Trick." Pete would continue, and ramble about their white picket house and dog until Patrick was strangely still. "I'm never gonna find love like ours, Pat. I'm never gonna marry anyone unless it was you."

Patrick wouldn't believe him, wouldn't believe him when Pete told him how beautiful he was, even when it was lyrics Patrick sang to thousands of screaming fans that believed, they must've known it was always about the strawberry blonde with woman thighs and a voice of an angel instead of some random chick with a blurry face and empty voice that repeated over and over, "I'm done, Pete."

"So fucking beautiful, I can't believe you're real. You're here, with me, instead of off with some perfect woman with a gorgeous laugh unlike mine with less problems, less dark circles under her beautifully bright eyes."

Patrick would laugh again, a beautiful wind chime, and respond with, "yeah, but no one could ever love me as much as you do."

"Damn straight." Pete would grunt, shoving his face right back into that precious stomach that he wanted to worship, worship until Patrick accepted as another beautiful part of him.

It sometimes got tiring being in love with your best friend.

Best friends only go so far, only share cheek kisses and cuddles and they say they'll be with you forever but someone will always be there to sweep them away and put a ring on their finger that you should've bought.

It made Pete angry, angry that someone else would get to have Patrick without fully appreciating how utterly amazing he was, they wouldn't tell him every day until it annoyed Patrick.

"Patrick, you're an angel fallen from heaven."

"Shut up, Pete."

"Shut up" was a code word for "I don't believe you yet, keep trying", because Patrick never seemed truly angry at Pete for all his clingy tactics and intense love that never left, never burned out.

There they would sit, cuddled in one another like two halves of a whole, sharing earbuds to bring themselves even closer. Pete would say something stupid, like "wish I could sew us together so you'd never have to leave me," and for once, Patrick would smile instead of roll his eyes.

Sitting together on that loud, crowded bus, sewn together with perfectly messy stitches, maybe, just maybe, Patrick would start to believe him.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on an actual bus ride, and I think it captures what I imagine would really happen if Pete fell in love with Patrick. He'd just drive himself crazy with wanting him to himself but wanting Patrick to be happy, sickeningly adorable and sweet and heartbreaking all at once.


End file.
